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What you need, what you deserve, is a guy who adores you for what you are. Who doesn't see you as a project, but a prize. you know?
Sarah Dessen
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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Need
Adores
Needs
Adore
Prize
Project
Projects
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More quotes by Sarah Dessen
I'm just writing what I know. I've never been much of a reader of fantasy, and I think you write what you, personally, enjoy reading.
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It's hard to be nice when the rest of the world is so mean.
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When I pictured myself, it was always like just an outline in a coloring book, with the inside not yet completed. All the standard features were there. but the colors, the zigzags and plaids, the bits and pieces that made up me, Halley, weren't yet in place. Scarlett's vibrant reds and golds helped some, but I was still waiting.
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I mean, it's not surprising, really. Once you love something, you always love it in some way. You have to. It's, like, part of you for good.
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I thought of all the times we'd been together, how I kept coming closer, then retreating, while he stayed right where he was. A constant in a world where few, if any, really existed.
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You can't love anyone that way more than once in a lifetime. It's too hard and it hurts too much when it ends.
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It passed, though. That was the bad thing. It always passed.
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This Lullaby is only a few words, a simple run of chords, quiet here in this spare room, but you can hear it, hear it, wherever you may go, even if I let you down, this lullaby plays on.
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I spent a lot of time looking at that picture. Wondering what I’d think of that girl, if I was someone else, seeing how easily she sits in her boyfriend’s lap, laughing, with his arms around her. I would have thought her life was perfect, the way I once thought Cass’s was. It was too easy, I was learning, to just assume things.
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And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.
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There were so many levels to the unknown, from safe to dangerous to outright nebulous, scariest of all.
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What, I said, is that a crime here or something? Like only buying one thing at the Gas/Gro?
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Everything, in the end, comes down to timing. One second, one minute, one hour could make all the difference.
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Don't give me no rotten tomato, 'cause all I ever wanted was your sweet potato.
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No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.
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Told you. Everything sounds better in the car wash.
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I have to admit, an unrequited love is so much better than a real one. I mean, it's perfect... As long as something is never even started, you never have to worry about it ending. It has endless potential.
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This is personal, she'd said. Real. This moment was too, even if you couldn't see it at first glance. It was fake on the outside, but so true within. You only had to look, really look to tell.
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Was it really this easy, once you escaped, to just not care?
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And that was it. All this buildup to a great leap, and I didn't fall or fly. Instead I found myself back on the edge of the cliff, blinking, wondering if I'd ever jumped at all. It's not supposed to be like this.
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